


Hell in a Handbasket

by Magnificent_Innuendo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert, Romance, potential smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:26:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnificent_Innuendo/pseuds/Magnificent_Innuendo
Summary: It's one thing to take on a gang in the shadows...another entirely to be dragged out and hunted by its big brother. Soldier 76 finds himself on the run when Talon catches wind of his encounters with the Los Muertos gang. Fortunately, he has a bit of help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Showing the grumpy old man a little love...because dammit, I'm smitten. 
> 
> This is also my first fic here, so show me a little love too.

A labyrinth of gunmetal grey...or at the very least, it tried to be. The overwhelming redundancy of dimly lit twists and turns, bereft of signage gave the impression of a larger structure than was actually the case. Perhaps that was the point; leaving those unfamiliar at the mercy of identical walls and the panic inducing tint of atmospheric lighting--courtesy of red emergency beacons lining the floor. Even now, with mask in place, red lenses skewing things that much more, you succumbed to a small tinge of the intended panic. How could you not? This was an interview of sorts, and the Talon base only compounded the nervous jitters.

Yet not, all the same.

You had long realized the layout for the spiraling grid that it was. A series of left turns for example, not leading a complete circle, but to an adjacent quadrant. If anything, the only real obstacle proved to be the jacket tucked under one arm, and the immense rifle balanced in the other. Simply put, your hands were full. It made passing thresholds something of a chore, but the awkward dance of jutting your hip out in the hopes of catching the card reader served you well enough. As with now, as you hopped a few times, balance precarious as you tried to open the nearest door. It slid open with a hush, though the way you tumbled through, nearly dropping everything most certainly made your presence known. A sheepish smile flittered across your lips...a feigned habit that would go unnoticed thanks to the ballistics mask.

Immediately, the coppery smell of blood and years of baked in sweat hit you. The room proved a stark contrast of the halls you previously walked; this one white, bright, and almost insufferably hot. Two men occupied the space; one seated and restrained via heavy chains, the other towering over him like a predator paused mid rampage. His shoulders rose and fell in quick succession, quaking from the adrenaline high he was on. What drew your attention first, however, were his bared hands, battered knuckles slick with blood not of his own. Next, was the patter of them dripping to the floor..quiet as it was in that moment, time held still, each individual drop seemed loud as Niagara. Following down to the patter itself, you noticed the blooming sea below the metal chair on which the captive sat. Heavy chains arose from the thick pool of claret like twisted vines, reaching out to encapsulate, wrench, and drown him if ever given the opportunity.

"You're not supposed to be here," a synthesized voice sounded off, relay altering an otherwise normal baritone with an electronic buzz. It cut through the haze like a hot knife, gaze jerking from the slow swirl of blood falling victim to the room's depression and centermost drain.

Your answer came with a lengthy delay, intent rather, on recapturing your nearly spilled items and lost composure. "Uhh," you drawled after a time, stalling, mind slowly catching up after the brief lapse, " _you're_ not supposed to be here _._ " Shrugging, you continued on as if nothing was amiss. The easiest way to disarm a person, you'd learned, was simply to act normal.

Slipping behind the nearby console, you set everything down before beginning to pad away at the holographic display. A soft whir sounded as the two cameras in the room deactivated and slumped.  "Look man," you continued, still tapping away--the elephant in the room which up until now, had remained motionless, groaned. A steady current, you noted, had been running through the chains and a swipe of a vertical bar set the voltage to zero. Perhaps he'd become accustomed to its presence, or perhaps it was an attempt at a relieved sigh that pain twisted into something far more vocal. What caught you off guard however, was not the simple conundrum, but rather the fact that you never noticed the electric hum until it was gone. It didn't however, escape your fellow operative...

It was almost intimidating how he crossed from the prisoner to tower before your person; rounding the chair like a beast selecting a new target, body moving though head balanced and stationary as his gaze remained locked. You couldn't see it, behind a mask as it was, but you could only imagine the feral peel of lips as he bared his teeth, eyes burning holes through red lenses if such a thing were indeed possible.

You paused briefly, staring up at the tall figure as gloved fingers hovered over the display. In that moment, he took the time to glance at it, shift in focus evidence by how his head dipped slightly. It was a terse move--quick and angry, before he walked it back in a slower, more deliberate manner as if catching you red-handed. Coughing at the sudden implications, you tore you gaze from his and went back to work. "You're welcome to I suppose, but I'm taking out the trash regardless."

The subject in question jerked in his seat, no doubt in protest, but seemed far too weak at this point to put up any real fight. All he really managed was a slight rattling of chains and a curious glance from a single Talon operative--the other still quite pointedly boring into the smaller figure.

After swallowing a lump you hadn't realized had been there, you inhaled slowly before breathing out in an exasperated manner. A hand reach to pinch at your nose, though settled for running a palm from the mask's brow to nape; telegraphing annoyance to the best of your ability. It may or may not have been genuine, but you had a face to put on for the gaze that trailed your every move.

Heedless of whether or not he continued to protest, you rounded the console, drawing a pistol from your hip. A quick inspection not only switched off the safety, but checked its ammunition cartridge. A neon seven stared back, indicating that the small blaster could fire as many in succession before overheating. Stalking over to the captive you circled him once, noting his horrid condition. No doubt he suffered a dislocated jaw and broken nose...among other, none visible injuries. Squatting low, you peered up into a dull gaze. Even now though, hanging by a thread, his eyes still seemed blue as day.

Breaking the stare, you stood, line of sight replaced by a barrel pressed between his eyes. A bit of pressure forced his head back, wrist rotating with the move as you aimed downward--blue eyes closing out the blinding spotlight above, resigned to their fate. "Not gonna leave, are ya?" A two-fold question, offered to both though only intended for one. There was little time given for a response before you raised your weapon and fired, blowing through the small bit of throat that the operative's uniform did not adequately protect. The projectile slipped cleanly between the plates of his armor before exploding out the back in a shower of gore.

A hiss sounded almost immediately, steam jettisoning from vents on either side of the slide as the weapon cooled rapidly. A cursory glance noted that the present cartridge still read seven. You nodded to yourself in an automatic gesture that played out before you had a mind to stop it, and holstered the pistol in a motion so smooth it spoke volumes for your composure, marking an apparent fallacy of the apprehensive unprofessionalism demonstrated prior, and a lacking disregard for the dead body not more than a few meters away.

Looking down, you were almost surprised by the pair of blue eyes looking very intently at you..albeit lacking a fire that they might have otherwise maintained hadn't he been so drained, head canted from the mere exertion of holding it upright. His mouth opened as if to say something, though in a painfully slow motion, closed as he realized he couldn't--brow creasing with what you assumed annoyance at present weakness. In an attempt at chasing away whatever negative emotions that were riling, you raised a hand to the side of your face, fingers seemingly interacting with an invisible dial. In seconds, the mask faded away, a grid of blue neon lights briefly revealed before they too disappeared. In its place, a headpiece--not unlike a pair of headphones--enveloped your ears and wrapped around the back of your head. Your stoic visage was hardly inviting, but at the very least, you reasoned, would be a welcomed change from black masks with glaring red lenses.

"Let's get you home, soldier." A nod...crisp like that of a salute. You weren't military, but that didn't mean you couldn't carry yourself with the same level of discipline.

He tried to do so in turn, though his head fell far faster than intended, and if the vein protruding from his neck was anything to go by, lifting it again was quite the difficult task.

"At ease, we have the time."

Another crease of his brow, frustration apparent, though he collapsed nonetheless.

Slipping a hand behind your back, you procured a small pen. A tap at its base brought it to life with a pulse; energy flaring before focusing into a thin beam that made short work of his chains. They fell in a series of heavy clanks, splattering blood further, peppering you with flecks of red. The man however..on _him_ you hardly noticed a difference given the macabre painting of both old a new blood.

Spinning on your heel, you approached a pile of emitters. There were two in fact. One far more haphazard than the other, canisters seemly tossed aside after they were spent. Another, neatly stacked, though noticeably smaller construction of untapped healing power. The room and its captive had been covered in far more blood than a single person contained. It was very possible it came from multiple detainees, though you wagered they were likely patched up before subsequent rounds of torture..perhaps both. In any event, you did not question Talon's methods, only took advantage of them, snagging one of the canisters and popping it near the injured male. Soft, yellow light bathed the immediate area, and you could feel it soothing aches you didn't even know you had. It had the slightly unpleasant effect of being warm in an already hot room, but it seemed like such an insignificant complaint given the circumstances, so you quickly squashed the selfish thought.

The aura was by no means a miracle worker though, lessening pain and turning vicious bruising into something only slightly muted. It wouldn't mend broken bones, only dull the nerve endings otherwise constantly reminding of them. It wouldn't seal the many cuts and bullet wounds, just clot and stop them from spewing further. If anything, it just made his condition more bearable...incapable of the tremendous treatment he actually needed, but hopefully stabilizing him enough to get there. Absently, you wondered if a doctor had been on hand to mend prisoners after more extreme rounds of torture...

One thing the emitter had managed to fix however, was the swelling of his broken nose, and for the first time since your arrival, he was finally able to breathe through it. A bit of blood dripped to his upper lip in the process, and by how he raised a hand to wipe it away before pushing his jaw back into place with a not so pleasant pop, you had to assume his condition was improving. "Do you know who you are?"

There was a pause, but he did answer in time, lengthy, haggard sigh preceding a moniker, "76."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because my luck is trash, Sombra came out the day after I posted this and now I don't know how to feel about this stealthy reader.


	2. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing the emitter had managed to fix however, was the swelling of his broken nose, and for the first time since your arrival, he was finally able to breathe through it. A bit of blood dripped to his upper lip in the process, and by how he raised a hand to wipe it away before pushing his jaw back into place with a not so pleasant pop, you had to assume his condition was improving. "Do you know who you are?"
> 
> There was a pause, but he did answer in time, lengthy, haggard sigh preceding a moniker, "76."

"Do you know _where_ you are?"

"Dorado"

You would have accepted a multitude of answers to that one, and while wrong, it was still, technically correct. "Not anymore, soldier," if repeated instances were anything to go by, you seemed to be addressing him more literally, indicating profession rather than his actual codename, "We're about 300 kilometers south."

"Did you give them anything?" It was a bold question, and with the way his features twisted, you knew he was offended. Before he could say anything however, you apologized, "Of course not...apologies for even implying such a thing."

The bristle softened considerably, though the furrow of his brow remained. _That_ didn't disappear until it later bled out upon a ragged sigh, _"damn right."_

"You able to move?" Even as the question fell, you were already reaching about to pocket the still held torch, replacing it with an auto-injector. You twirled it in your hands, mixing the concoction before having the better judgment of handing it off instead of trying to administer it yourself.

"I'll manage," he supplied, accepting the small device with a curious glance.

"Antibiotics to stave off infection," you answered the unspoken inquiry. "Painkillers," you continued to explain in listing fashion, "coagulant and adrenaline." It would hopefully sustain him long enough in between emitters, as you for damned sure wouldn't be popping any while running the halls. Dim as they were, they would still shine like beacons in the sparsely lit base.

He still continued to stare, mistrust evident, but it was either your or Talon at this point. Aggravated, he clicked his tongue before administering the stimpack, the telltale sound of a spring loaded syringe filling otherwise dead air as it collided with his right thigh. Spent, he tossed the cartridge aside where it clattered against the pile of defunct emitters.

Nodding to yourself, you went to retrieve the items you had entered with. "I couldn't find your visor..." You sounded almost disappointed, but as quickly as it seeped into your voice, it was gone. If he noticed at all, he didn't comment, just accepted his jacket and pulse rifle.

He seemed to struggle with the jacket, though if the dossier you compiled was anything to go by, he was a man of pride, so you didn't offer to help. You'd already done enough, so instead you quickly took interest in a stain on the far wall.

Next was the rifle he hefted from his lap. He didn't struggle with its weight like you had, but you could tell it still felt heavy in his hands. Uninjured, you were sure he could wield the weapon as if it were as light as a feather.

As if the thought sparked a memory, you twitched into a more straightened posture, hands quite literally disappearing as they delved below... _something_. For a moment, a blue grid, much like with the helmet, flashed. It created a vaguely cape-like shape that encircled your person in 360, falling to about your knees. Seemingly annoyed, you gestured as if flipping something heavy over your shoulder. Your hands reappeared, and for a split second the Talon uniform distorted revealing an entirely different suit before everything returned to its prior appearance.

He seemed shocked, though not overly so, perhaps having witnessed such technology in the past. Not that you would be explaining yourself even if he had said anything... In any event, you handed over two canisters and a few extra clips. Said objects were awkward for you to hold, and likely having taken up more space on your person than was comfortable--if the brief glimpse at your slim suit was anything to go by. "Make 'em count, this was all I could grab of Helix ammunition." If the moment should arise, you had no doubt that he would.

"Let's get to it then." Somehow, you knew that was something he said often...

Following the order, you slipped your pistol free of its holster, and made for the door.  In passing, you made sure to swipe two more healing emitters. 76, after working into a stand, did the same. He also had managed to snag the dead Talon agent's helmet, somehow donning it with a single hand. There was a pressurized hiss as it fit to his face and locked, electronic sigh sounding thereafter as he was no doubt comforted by the protection it would provide.

He had followed you out afterwards...or at the very least, tried to.

The moment he crossed the threshold of hellhole to the cool, crisp hallway, he froze. You weren't anywhere to be seen and he had to wonder how he lost you so easily. If he were a lesser man, he might have panicked. Instead, he merely looked about deciding which direction he should go in. Sure, he wished he were in better shape, but he steeled nerves nonetheless by convincing himself the only real challenge would be navigating unfamiliar territory. Before he could take another step however, he heard your voice. It took every fiber of his being not to look about rapidly, searching for your location. Instead, he continued to stare down the hall.

When he felt a light tug on the front of his jacket, he looked down to see the waist strap moving of its own accord and surmised it your doing. "I'll lead." You sounded so very close, having apparently never left his side, and he had to wonder how he didn't pick up on that sooner. Rather than berate himself, he reasoned the week's worth of solitude interspersed with bruising fists were more likely the culprit than failing senses.

"We have ten minutes before they rotate and realize you're gone..." You offered the last tidbit, hoping it would encourage a quicker escape. The more you thought on it however, the more you realized it irrelevant, as the super soldier needed no such encouragement. Instead, you could only hope he took it as relevant intel, and wouldn't hold it against you like the earlier misstep.

~~

The trek throughout the base had been remarkably--thankfully, uneventful for a while. The few guards you had come across were quickly dispatched by your person; briefly leaving Soldier 76 behind cover before you vaulted off and incapacitated the threat before it even realized you were upon it. There wasn't enough time to dispose of the bodies however, and you were rapidly approaching the ten minute mark for shift changes. That is to say..if the cameras didn't spot the wandering prisoner or lifeless agents first.

As luck would have it, they did, and instantly the halls went from muted to nearly blinding.

The heavy, mechanical whir of industrial lighting kicking on one building at a time pounded at you. Perhaps not loud, but near deafening in your mind, setting your heart to race as you kicked into high gear. Immediately, you were visible, making sure 76 could keep an easy eye on your suddenly running form. Your blaster was held in firing position, as was his rifle, ready to dispatch any who crossed your path.

Later you would note how soft his steps were, mindful not to thunder down the hallway, making any more noise than jostling gear already was. In the present however, all you focused on was getting out alive.

"Squad up ahead," a gruff voice rang out behind you, and it took a moment to process that it was 76...and another to remember the stolen helmet and the comms chatter he was most likely listening in on.

Tilting your pistol, you again checked the side, bright seven still glaring back. Somewhat reassured, you rounded the next corner, dropped into a roll, and fired at anything not wearing red, white, and blue. When you cleared to the opposite side, you slipped behind the corner and waited. Your blaster had been venting near profuse amounts of steam, and beeping incessantly, warning of not only its temperature but its current inability to fire. Another check confirmed a bright red zero, and you could only hope you made those seven shots count.

At the opposite side of the hall, standing from where you initially rolled, was Soldier. He alternated between cover and peaking about to fire a few burst rounds. He would serve as suppression fire for the rest of the push out. Though as versed in tactics as he was, it was likely he knew his role long before the fighting even started. The rapid fire spray he could provide would be enough to hold Talon back so that you could move in and flank. As such, when the beeps finally stopped, and the slide moved back into place, you nodded in signal before cloaking and bounding off.

You hugged the wall in doing so, trying to stay out of the way of incoming shots as well as 76's returned fire. After the few heartbeats that felt like an eternity, you were on the other side, dropping the last three agents with quick shots to the back of the neck. The head would have been far more humane, as they instead fell to the ground, paralyzed, gasping through shredded flesh, and bleeding profusely, but the neck was the surest kill. Given the nature of the projectiles your weapon fired, you didn't wish to risk potential collateral if they splintered upon contact with the heavier armor of the helmets or torsos. You counted your blessings that everyone thus far was human as an omnic wouldn't be quite as easy to dispatch.

Speak of the devil and it shall appear...

"Take cover!" On instinct, you obeyed his words without thought, dropping to the ground and pressing yourself flat. Further down the hall was another squad, three human with four omnics in tow. You were vaguely aware of a blue glow flying somewhere above you, and by the time you realized it was a three-round burst of helix rockets, you were already engulfed in the resulting explosion.

When the dust settled, you became acutely aware of the fact that yes, you indeed survived. 76 may have been more familiar with the explosives and their range of destructive power, but you however were not as comfortable with them going off so near to your person. The next realization was the ringing in your ears and an equilibrium that outright mocked your ability to stand. You stumbled about like a child that had yet learned to walk, fumbling before crashing into the nearest wall and sliding back to the floor.

Soldier was saying.. _something_ , but for the life of you, you couldn't figure out what. Hell, for a few solid seconds, you hadn't even heard him at all until the dull background noise finally registered as vaguely humanoid shouts.

The last to hit you was the pain. Apparently it was the shockwave that caught you, not the actual blast (though the effect had essentially compounded exponentially given the confines of the hallway), but that didn't mean the shredded remains of four androids exploding were inconsequential debris either. With several shards of jagged metal piercing your person at odd angles, when the pain hit, it hit hard.

You sucked in a ragged breath, though your jaw snapped shut to keep from crying out immediately after. Your free hand rummaged for your last remaining auto-injector before ramming it into your side, a groan snaking out through clenched teeth.

It felt like hours had passed before you were able to stand, but judging by the fact that Soldier was just breaking cover, you had to assume it was only seconds. You allowed yourself that many more, steadying your breathing, and stood. Where you needed to be was just beyond the exploded mess of unrecognizable organic and mechanical remains, sliding doors blown clean off to expose the darkness of night, and most importantly, freedom.

With little encouragement needed, you made for the exit, careful not to slip in the gore..or fall victim to any of it that still oozed from the ceiling. Soldier brought up the rear, downing three more grunts that had trickled in from behind. He, however, took far less care in leaving, casually swiping away a bit of muscle tissue that had fallen to his shoulder after the fact.

Several trucks idled near the entrance with no care given to actual parking, but rather positioned as if they hurriedly pulled up and stormed inside without thought. Commandeering one, you tore out of the base like hellfire itself was nipping at your heels. 76 had the good sense to pop another emitter now that you were both stationary, and the relief felt-- _by both of you_ , was most certainly palpable.

Regardless, nobody said a word.

Not when you drove for an hour, only to ditch the vehicle (and helmet for fear of tracking) and climbed into another.

Not when you pulled up to the backside of a nondescript building and slipped in through an ajar window.

Even still, as you shakily hefted one leg after another, dripping blood, sweat, and all manner filth in a trail down the hall to your room, both collapsing the moment you entered, everyone remained silent.


	3. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 76 had the good sense to pop another emitter now that you were both stationary, and the relief felt--by both of you, was most certainly palpable. Regardless, nobody said a word. Not when you drove for an hour, only to ditch the vehicle (and helmet for fear of tracking) and climbed into another. Not when you pulled up to the backside of a nondescript building and slipped in through an ajar window. Even still, as you shakily hefted one leg after another, dripping blood, sweat, and all manner filth in a trail down the hall to your room, both collapsing the moment you entered, everyone remained silent.

It was several hours later that you awoke to the steady whir of a ceiling fan. In one moment, mentally cursing that it should be illegal in the present day and age to not have air conditioning...and the next, merely relieved that you woke up at all. Metal shards still protruded from your body and you were grateful that you didn't bleed out in your sleep. Off to your left, Soldier was out cold, limbs oddly draped over the front and side of an old loveseat that he was far too big for. A healing canister was just beyond his reach, apparently having rolled away some time or another.

The sudden thought proved jarring, and you immediately sat up, ignoring your body's painful protest. Padding the short distance from armchair to couch, you slipped a glove off and pressed two fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. Strong beats vibrated against your fingertips, and you silently cursed the jacket that hid an otherwise slow rise and fall of his chest. A shaky breath slipped past slightly parted lips, and you backed away. It wasn't until the back of your knees collided with a coffee table did you notice that blue eyes had peeled open and were currently locked on your torso...seemingly more aware of the injuries than you were.

"Should take care of that," he remarked, the first to speak in hours. His voice was hoarse, more so than before now that sleep compounded an already stressed body.

For some odd reason, it was the sound that stood out most to you, and not what he had actually said. "I'll go get you some water..."

The look he gave you effectively startled you out of a stupor, and you dialed back, replaying the last five seconds in your head before trying again. "You too," was the best you could come up with while gesturing to.. _all of him_ , before turning and heading to a small sink tucked in the corner.

The room looked like it had been two effectively joined into one, remnants of the old division still visible beneath the layer of cracked, yellowing paint along the walls. It was either a small kitchen or a bathroom combined with a nearby space, creating one of the many, many strange rooms the building housed. In your case, it meant that while the floor still shared a bathroom, you at least had your own sink.

Standing in front of the faucet, it took a while before you actually reached for the handles, initial blood loss and throbbing concussion quite obviously compromising mental stability. When you finally did, you left in search of a container, using the time effectively while the flow cleared a bit of rust from the pipes and slowly heated up. The room offered up little, but you did eventually find a dish of old, odorless potpourri. After tossing the contents, you returned to find much cleaner, steaming water. The size wasn't the most conducive to filling, so you had to tip the bowl at an odd angle. The result was less water than you wished, but it would still get the job done--if not require one or two trips back to the sink.

Mindful of the rapidly heating porcelain in your hands, you wandered back as quickly as your aching body would allow. Setting the bowl down on the table, you briefly glanced to a Soldier who had apparently removed his jacket and shirt, inspecting his own state of affairs. About the only thing on him that wasn't bruised, you noted, were his arms. Even that, however, only extended so far as the shackles had clearly abused his wrists.

In a different light, you might have found the open display alluring, but the circumstances settled the opinion closer to admiration. If he had really been held captive as long as you thought, 76 was most certainly a resilient force to be reckoned with.

"I came prepared," you managed, only after looking away. Careful as to not stress injuries, you nudged a duffle bag with your foot, pushing it out from under the table. It knocked into Soldier's previously discarded emitter, and it was only then that you noticed it was empty. "Not a medic, but I have some supplies."

It was an invitation as much as it was a plea, falling back and in no shape to bend down yourself. It took a moment for it to register, as he hadn't originally been looking, but he eventually caught on and opened up the bag. He sifted through its contents for all of a few seconds--ignoring the fact that it contained clothing and personal items--before tossing a bottle of alcohol and a few rolls of gauze your way. The tools were handled with a bit more care, and he set them atop the table.

With a bit of awkward maneuvering, you managed to grab tweezers from the bunch, and prepared to take on the task of removing what shrapnel you could. "I'll stitch you up in a minute--"

"I'll heal," he interjected flatly, not necessarily wanting the help, "worry about yourself."

He wouldn't..at least not properly. Given enough time, yes, his body could recover from its injuries. Technically, the same could be said of anyone. The problem, however, wasn't really open wounds, but broken bones. Sooner rather than later, the both of you would need to find a _real_ doctor.

"Suit..yourself," you replied, already plucking out some of the smaller pieces, hiss splitting the response. Fresh blood seeped from the wounds, running slow paths down the front of your grey, undoubtedly ruined exosuit. When tossed, the shards landed atop the table with a wet slap before sticking in place. You pulled out six in total before turning to the last two; large, intimidating pieces that, for the longest you hoped you were imagining. Each protruded a good three or so inches outward, and you could only guess how far inward.

"I'm no super soldier," you breathed, perhaps letting slip details about the male that you shouldn't otherwise have known about, "so I can only assume these missed anything important."

Shrugging out of your cloak, you spied several, much larger tears. It had also been flickering in and out of stealth, and you had to wonder how long it had been doing that for...and further still, if it could be repaired. "How in god's name am I alive...?" The question however, seemed light and almost childishly awestruck versus justifiably mortified.

He didn't say anything, so again you filled the void. "There's a shower at the end of the hall...may or may not have towels, I don't know." Your head titled from side to side as you spoke, trying to figure out the best method to remove the larger pieces.

"I uh...grabbed you a change of clothes. Might fit... _weird_....but they're clean."

Trying to buy clothes for a person you had never met was.. _something_ to say the least. They weren't supposed to be the most fashionable of choices, so that eased some of the headache, but sizes were another beast entirely. There was also the awkward boxer, brief dilemma that you'll never admit to...or the runaway thoughts when you gave up and decided he would simply have to go without. "Bag at the end of the couch."

He uttered a gruff thanks before slowly rising, grabbing the rucksack, and leaving you to your lonesome.

**~~**

By the time he returned, you were again, fast asleep, healing aura bathing the room in gold. A sopping, red cloth sat next to the earlier bottle of alcohol, along with the addition of a folding knife and roll of stitching wire. The exosuit had been peeled down to your waist, and angry skin stared back at him, fresh stitches rather prominent. It was later, in passing, that he noted the black sports bra you wore. Somehow, he hadn't originally put two and two together, realizing that a removed suit meant exposure and you were _very much a female_.

Forcing his gaze away, he busied himself with cleaning up the mess. The rag he trashed in a small waste bin, and the bloodied bowl saw itself emptied and refilled. A bottle had sat amongst the table's sprawl of supplies, and a cursory glance revealed it to be iodine tablets--one of which, he snagged and dropped into the steaming bowl. Apparently, you did not trust the local tap, so he wouldn't either.

It felt clumsy, and with bittersweet reminiscence he could hear a certain blonde complaining about his work. After years of solo vigilantism however, old hands still managed a needle and thread well enough to get the job done. He was remarkably quiet in doing so; breathing even save for the pause of bated breath whenever he'd break skin, and the slow exhale as he pulled wire taut.

He reflected in that moment, whilst tending to his wounds, where it all went wrong. For a time, his mind wandered to dark places. Before he could dwell, however, he secured his last bandage and collapsed backwards into the couch upon which he sat. The warmth of a healing aura, and the feel of clean skin and fresh clothes lulling him into an easy slumber.

~~

It was morning by the time you finally awoke, and holy hell, did your body hate you. After overcoming the initial fog, you had to wrestle with stiff joints, sore muscles, and injuries that refused to be forgotten. Everything seemed to pop, snap, and creak as you finally stood, and a yawn escaped as you carefully stretched. You were on autopilot, gathering your things as you prepared for a shower before memories flooded and you looked to the couch. There, Soldier lay, in khaki pants that surprisingly fit, and a black t-shirt that, unfortunately, did not. The length was correct, but it seemed a bit tight around his chest..even stretched to its limits about his biceps.

To say the sight yanked the sleep right out of you, was an understatement, and you quickly hurried out of the room. Perhaps it was the lack of bruises this time around, but the scales most certainly tipped from admiration, and fell in favor of something else entirely.

You apparently hadn't left fast enough however, as the owner happened to pass by and sneak a peek inside. There was nothing incriminating lying about, and the exosuit you'd completely shrugged out of before leaving. What she did see, however, was the resting 76.

"Oho~, like 'em like wine, do ya, niña?" She herself, was an elderly woman, and far too nosy for her own good. She was nice though, even if her hostel wasn't the best kept.

"W-what?" You stammered, shaking your head slightly.

"Aged," she clarified, as if it was the most obvious of things and you were just slow on the pick-up.

She leaned in close..too close, her pepper streaked curls brushing the side of you face. If it weren't for what she said, you would have otherwise drowned her out and thought on the mild annoyance that was the breakfast that still clung to her breath. She seemed to have a thing for onions in her eggs.

 "I saw that one coming out of the shower last night," she whispered, fanning herself.

For a moment, your mind wandered, picturing things it shouldn't have before a more pressing thought replaced it, fearful that she would question his poor state. Then, she continued, and it became clear that this was after he'd actually exited the bathroom and was indeed clothed.

"Niña, _oooo,_ " she cooed, "...wet shirt? It was like he was wearing _nothing-at-aaallllll_."

"Uh..." you breathed, still at a loss for words. After a moment, your mind caught up and you again shook your head, appearing mortified, "That's my father you're talking about." Hopefully, she wouldn't question the fact that you looked nothing alike.

"Oh? ¿Dónde está tu madre?"

You weren't quite fluent, but her hodgepodge mix of English and Spanish was usually easy enough to understand, and she was certainly asking about your mother. You only hoped it wasn't for the reason you were thinking, and you effectively cut the conversation short before she could press further into said territory.

"I'd rather not stand here..like this," you stammered, gesturing to your sports bra and spandex shorts before walking around her and into the bathroom.

She stood there a moment longer, looking between the two closed doors. She settled upon your room longer than she perhaps should have, before deciding to leave the matter be and strolled off singing an old, local rhyme.

 

~~

 

When you later returned, it was to a piercing, calculated gaze. "Who are you?

You paused, not quite sure how to respond. If anything, you expected the question far sooner, and whatever answer you had concocted prior was already lost and forgotten. You blamed that particular shortcoming on the concussion...

"I..." you drawled, at a loss and looking everywhere but those cold, blue eyes.

"Out with it," he barked, though seemed to regret the tone--if only slightly--eyes crinkling in so insignificant a flinch that you weren't quite sure you even caught it.

"Would you rather I left you there?" You returned, low and disapproving. Clicking your tongue, you continued and tried again, "I'm....an.. _ally_."

The look he gave quite clearly said that wasn't enough, and you took it as an affront. "Don't trust me?"

"I don't pretend to know the intentions of strangers." The line, for some reason, reminded you of stranger-danger lectures they would give to school children, and you had to stifle an amused smirk. At that moment, you figured, the gesture would be misconstrued and you wisely abstained from personal amusement.

"Count your blessings, friend," you supplied at last, rounding the table to stow old clothing. It had been neatly folded, and he couldn't help but notice the careful placement within your bag. Even the mess from the night before, he now remembered, had been arranged in an orderly fashion. "--neither of us," your continuation cut through his brief distraction, "have a particularly large pool of resources at the moment."

He looked like he wanted to interject, but you cut him off with two raised hands, explaining before the accusation could fly.

 "Please, you expect me to believe otherwise?" Your hands spun in the air, one splaying fingers, while the other positioned to tap as you counted off, "You were off the radar for how long? Since they found you, I'm willing to bet they knew where you were staying too--I sure as hell did. Whatever you had is likely cleared out by now."

You hadn't yelled, though the furious expression you slowly twisted into carried where volume could not. When he stood however, you had to actively will the fire to stay--threatened as it was by a much more dominant force towering over you. He spoke low, but the command in his voice was no less clear. Answer incorrectly and you might find yourself at the receiving end of the old soldier's fury. "How long have you been following me?"

"Awhile."

Incorrect.

He moved like a blur, and before you knew it, you back was against the wall, bits of disturbed paint chips littering the floor. Absently, your gaze fell to the clatter and you realized then, that your feet weren't touching the ground. A hand was at your throat, and just below, another pushed against your chest to stop it from expanding.

"Want to try that again?" The way his grip loosened and his other pulled away just enough to allow a breath, it was clear he wanted you to know who was in control of the situation. Regardless, you breathed in slow and steady through your nose, refusing the panicked gasps that he no doubt sought.

"You have a rather large target on your back."

Again, your answer was incorrect, and by the way his hand constricted about your throat, if you survived the ordeal, you were quite sure it would be bruised for days to come. Rather than allow him to suffocate you a second time, you responded by wrapping your legs about his waist, and hands around his arms. The latter of which would prove useless in a contest of strength, but did allow you to brace yourself for when your heel dug into a wound at his lower back.

He whipped around violently in response, attempting to throw you to the floor. When it became clear you would not be tossed aside, the strength behind his grip doubled.

Spots began to pepper hazy vision, and in time, your limbs fell. "Jack," you breathed, voice strained as you used the last of your breath, "Morrison."

He recoiled in that moment..as if your skin was hot to the touch. You fell in an crumbled heap, and there was no shame to be found in the greedy, gasping, mouthfuls of air you swallowed.

A slow, shaky chuckle teased out thereafter, "She's going to think you're quite the abusive father..."

The ex-commander was a brimming fount of murderous intent, and quite obviously did not appreciate your humor. If an answer wasn't fast forthcoming, abuse would be the last of your worries.

"Right, right," you managed after rolling to your back. Sitting wasn't an option just yet, as you'd undoubtedly fall over with how lightheaded you've become. "Full disclosure...just give me a moment.."

Receding footsteps where the first to meet your ears, followed closely by weight collapsing cushions. A spared glance saw him seated upon the loveseat, though from your vantage, you could see the rifle tucked beneath it and how very near it was to his person.

_Lovely..._

"I'm an information broker," you started, wincing at an already sore throat. "There was a hefty sum on all things 76 a few years ago." You hummed at the memory, lips pulling into a frail smile, "I could have made so much..."

Abruptly, you sat upright and almost immediately regretted the action as your world swam. "But," you barked while trying to recover some semblance of balance. "But," you repeated, softer, "it all fell into place and I couldn't. You're..." you trailed before eventually raising a hand, palm extended as you gestured to his seated form, "You. .....one of the good guys." A frown twisted your features, and with much more care, you fell back, "One of the few we have left."

A sigh fell from your lips as memories flooded. Not of the man before you, but of a time before you began the investigation. There were no more tears for old wounds, only the residual pangs that would hush voices and soften features, "So I kept an eye on you...just to make sure you didn't disappear too."

Another painful swallow..this time however, you didn't stop yourself from raising a hand to your neck, rubbing at the slowly forming bruise. "Ya almost did."

There was a wordless response; groan bleeding out into a ragged sigh, but otherwise, the room was again enveloped in silence. Somewhere amidst the stretch of dead air, you spared a glance at the seated soldier, suspicions confirmed via his weighted shoulders.

Guilt.

Beneath the hard exterior, there was a heart of gold, and it was _that_ , that regretted your current condition. He reasoned with himself that he had needed answers, but now his choice in methods left a sour taste. He couldn't bring himself to apologize, though _something_ needed to be said. His mouth hung open before abruptly closing, words dying on his tongue. The action seemed to repeat itself..twice in fact, before an abrupt turn of his head shifted attention. A few moments later, and you heard it too.

A patter of soft footfalls hurried down the hall, and by the time a knock rapt against the worn door, you were already standing before it.

"Niña?"

You spared a glance back at 76, and when he nodded in consent, you slowly cracked the door, body filling the space and obscuring the view into the room.

" Niña," she repeated, "there are some men downstairs to see you..." To her credit, she sounded rather jovial when relaying the news, even if her expression read something far more panicked.

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a slow burn type of romance...


End file.
